Miracles Last Not Even a Minute
by LamsNotLambs
Summary: The good things in life never last long enough. A bit of Lams, but not much at all. Rated K for blood, but not very detailed.
1. Dumb and Unlucky

"C'mon," Laurens begged, dragging me downstairs, "I swear Herc said that there was supposed to be a ton of money from years ago hidden in his house."

"John," I said, but still continuing to walk downstairs, "Herc isn't even home. In fact, we're the only ones here! You can go search for your 'treasure.' I'm just going to do the laundry like Herc told me to."

I strode towards the winger while John scanned the room, and I think he was searching for the money.

A few minutes later as I was feeding a wet slip into the wringer, John's yelp of excitement startled me.

"Holy smoke! Lexi, look!" John pulled a discolored brick out of the wall that turned out to be a box. He opened it and gasped as bills starting fluttering out like butterflies set free. It must be at least a million dollars, and I'm thinking this must be a miracle or something when I feel a tug on my fingers.

My right arm's yanked, and when I look back, it's being pulled into the wringer. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a wheeze. I can't believe what I'm seeing 'cause there would be pain if this were real. I calm down for a second, but then I feel the pain, like I'm being shot and I yell, "John, John, John !" and he runs over, his face white as snow, frozen in disbelief.

My whole arm has been pulled through the wringer all the way up to my armpit, and it's stuck, the wringer's still going, grinding down on my arm.

"Make it stop!" I scream, tears dotting my eyes.

John jumps to life and pulls the plug out of the wall, and I feel a jolt as the wringer stops.

For a moment we both stare at my arm stuck in the wringer, and when I meet John's eyes, he has the same look he had when his turtle was stolen, and I know it's bad. It's terrible, it's horrible, it's my end.

All at once the pain washes over me, and I start to scream, my voice loud- I never knew I had a voice this loud- and I'm screaming, "Get it out! Get it out!" and John's saying, "It'll be okay! It'll be okay!" but I just scream and scream, and he's running outside, shouting for George and Martha Washington, who are out on their porch next door.

Then I'm all alone in the basement, money littering the floor, and everything slows down so that my whole life, my whole world, is reduced to this moment, this wringer, this arm that used to be an arm that I can't imagine will never hold a pen or John's hand or computer mouse or anything at all, ever again.

John comes running back with George Washington, and they get my arm out of the wringer, but by the time they do, I'm done with screaming, I'm all screamed out, and all I can do is moan low in my throat. When Washington picks me up to carry me upstairs, the sudden jolting makes me throw up the toast from breakfast, and then everything goes black for a moment.


	2. So This Is the Other Side

I blink my eyes open, and Washinton is leaning over me, and I'm laying across the front seat of his car, the wheels rumbling beneath my head, my arm wrapped in what looks like the white lacy tablecloth from Herc's dining room, and I realize that all the red on it is my blood.

"Hang on, son. We're almost at the hospital," Washington says urgently.

But his face changes, and it's not George Washington anymore; the face becomes more feminine, and eyes filled with kindness.

"My Alex," my mother says, leaning down, touching my forehead, her hand soft as an angel's. "Mehson."

And that's when I know I'm dying.

* * *

The best thing about dying, I decide, is that I'm finally going to see my mother. She'll be waiting for me on the other side, and there'll be all of my friends back from Nevis who lost their lives to the Hurricane. Not like I ever had many friends.

But when I open my eyes, there's no friends or reunions, just a terrible numb feeling on the right side of my body and the sound of yelling, like someone's in a tsunami. I half expect to see a massive wave.

Except the voice doing the shouting is Hercules.

"You were supposed to work together!" He shouted, "You were supposed to watch him!"

I hear Washington's voice, the same steady voice he uses when he talks to everybody.

"Hercules," he said, "it was an accident. It's not John's fault-"

"Don't you talk to me about accidents!" he shrieked wildly, "He killed his turtle and now he's almost killed my first friend!"

"Herc, don't," Laf pleaded, "Please don't."

I open my eyes to see the room crowded with people- it seems like everyone's here. There's Washington and Laf and Angelica and Eliza and Peggy and Philip Schuyler and, heck even James Madison and Thomas Jefferson. In the middle of the room, Herc and Laurens stand across from each other like boxers in a ring.

"Hercules," Laurens said in a choked voice.

But it's too much for Hercules to handle somehow, and he takes to steps until he's standing right in front of John, and he slaps him. Slaps him so hard, I'm sure they can hear it across the river in Jersey.

The whole room gasped, and Herc raises his hand again.

Laurens blanched like he's been sucker punched, but he doesn't say anything; he just stands there, waiting for the next blow to fall. He's used to it after all. He looks terrible. His shirt is stained with my blood, and his usually sparkling hazel eyes appear to be a dull brown, and I can't take it. I can't take seeing that horrible look in his eyes like he wishes he was dead and Hercules his executioner. My two favorite people standing there, hating each other.

"Stop," I said. It came out as a croak.

Hercules spins around and rushes over to me, at my side in two steps.

"Alex, Alex," He said.

Washington shooed everybody out of the room, and I watch as Laurens holds my gaze until the door is slammed behind him.

* * *

 **I might add an epilogue if there's high demand, but I think the story will end here. Thanks for reading! =3 =3 =3  
**


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